


The arms of the ocean are carrying me ...

by cinderellasfella



Series: What the water gave me [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Homecoming, M/M, Pining, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 02:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderellasfella/pseuds/cinderellasfella
Summary: It’s early winter, the bitter winds already adding a steely bite to the sea spray, when he returns.To say Steve has been waiting would be something of an understatement.





	The arms of the ocean are carrying me ...

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the Selkie!AU that precisely one person asked for.  
> (It was me. I asked for it. You're welcome, me.)
> 
> Long-time fan of the pairing, first time writing for them. Hope you all enjoy!

It’s early winter, the bitter winds already adding a steely bite to the sea spray, when he returns.

Steve’s half asleep when it happens. It had been a long day, the sharp winds and squalls of rain quickly taking their toll on his frame and his mood as the catch remained resolutely small. He’d turned down drinks with Sam and Bucky once they’d made it back to shore, hoping that a good book by the fire would settle his melancholia. But all through the evening, a cloud of restlessness had settled over his little cottage, and nothing could hold his attention for very long. His eyes glazed over at every book he opened, the radio was little better than grating, mindless chatter, and any attempts to catch up on chores were half-hearted at best.

He’d tried sketching at one point, hoping to find solace in his own imagination. Only to slam the sketchpad shut and stuff it under the couch, as he realised with a jolt that he’d half-filled the page with solemn, piercing eyes in shades of clearest blue. Eventually, he’d given up the evening as a lost cause. Wrapped up in a thick sweater to ward off the chill, he retired to bed, stubbornly trying not to think of how quickly those solemn eyes could sparkle with mirth as the corners crinkled in laughter. He’d almost succeeded when the intruder made himself known.

It’s the soft clink of the latch lifting that first alerts him. The wind outside suddenly rises in volume, blasting an icy chill through the cottage before the door is quickly shut and locked up again. Though his eyes never open, he can’t help a small smile quirking his lips as he listens to the soft, uneven _slap, slap, slap_ of bare feet on the floor. He’s always a little unsteady for the first few hours, as his mind adjusts to the difference in height, limbs, movement – _everything_ , really.

The footsteps pause for a moment. A faint rustling of something that’s not quite cloth comes from below, followed by a loud _thwack_ as the visitor shakes out his coat, dispelling the worst of the damp before carefully hanging it over the hearth. Steve had taken care to stack the fire high before heading up to bed, as he’s done for the past few weeks. Just in case.

The groaning of the fifth stair heralds the visitor’s approach just moments before the door gently creaks open. Steve keeps his back turned to the door, knowing he’s being watched. That his slow, even breathing isn’t fooling the other man for a second.

Finally, a fond, rumbling chuckle reaches his ears. One, two, three steps from the door to the side of the bed. The right side, left empty until its owner returns. The heavy quilts are pulled back for a moment, and Steve grits his teeth against the sudden shiver the cold air brings as the mattress dips behind him.

An arm, lightly furred and thickly corded with muscle, snakes its way around his side and under his thick sweater, until the hand rests over his heart, callused fingertips tracing whorls through the hair they find there. The body that moulds itself to the curve of his spine (naked, Steve notes, even with a thick layer of clothing between them, and tries to suppress an entirely different kind of shiver) is warmer than it has any right to be, having spent nearly six months in the freezing northern seas, and Steve can’t help but burrow back into the broad chest, an unknown weight finally lifting from his mind.

"Well," he says at last, his fingers intertwining with the ones over his heart. 'You took your time.'

He feels Thor’s smile curving against his shoulder, a series of feather light kisses trailing up along his neck and just under his ear. "I was sorely missed," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with drowsy contentment. "Besides, I could hardly deny Loki the pleasure of having to admit he has a brother, now could I?"

Steve lets out a sleepy chuckle, even as his eyelids grow heavier by the second. In the morning, Thor will awaken him with soft kisses and skillful hands that will leave him gasping and begging for more, harder, faster, _please_. They will fold up the dried sealskin coat, glowing gold in the early morning light, and store it away safe for the next few months. And then, they will go walking, sailing, catching Thor up with the rest of the little fishing town. Exchanging touches and glances, savouring every moment and storing it away. Even the thought of a second set of cutlery clinking away at supper has an achingly happy warmth unfurling in Steve’s belly.

There will be the usual difficulties, of course; the odd looks and pointedly veiled questions as people skirt around the topic of just where his golden-haired husband runs off to for months at a time. Thor’s fraught relationship with his brother, a thing as tempestuous as the sea outside, with depths of hurt and sadness that Steve can never hope to understand. The slow growing knowledge that, someday soon, Thor will don his cloak, kiss him farewell, and slip into the sea with nary a ripple. Leaving him alone, once again.

But for now, the winter winds are whistling soft and low outside, a light rain is starting to beat out a soothing rhythm on the windows, and his husband has come home, to hold him close with arms and a heart full of warmth. All is well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, feedback will be deeply appreciated! Find me under the same handle on Tumblr!  
> Title from Florence and the Machine's 'Never Let Me Go'.


End file.
